But Maya had just called me the man who kept six daughters from their mother.
“Your father poisoned you.”
So I gave the smallest nod.
Adele opened it. “Year two. Adele asked why Maya didn’t come to her school play. I told her she was loved. I hope one day that is enough.”
My eyes burned.
Adele turned a page. “Year six. Shannon called her teacher ‘Mom’ by accident and cried in the car. I told her families come in different shapes. I waited until she fell asleep before I cried.”
“I told her she was loved.”
At the very bottom of the box sat an empty frame with a small card inside.
“The mother-daughter photo we never got.”
“Oh my God. How dare you?” Maya screamed.
Adele stayed calm. “You came here worried about how you’d look in front of your new family. So I wanted them to see the family you left behind.”
